Extenuating Circumstances
by tyro12
Summary: REBOOT/REVAMP of Circumstances. Harry Potter begins his sixth year at Hogwarts by rescuing a girl he's never met before. Rated M for violence and lemons. Ron&Ginny Bashing, some Dumbledore bashing. HPDG, with a bit of HPTD, AU grey!not-helpless!more-suave!Harry.
1. Chapter 1: On the Train

Chapter 1: On the Train

A/N: I've redone this chapter... again! Had a good conversation with user Addictorator, and he made a bunch of great suggestions. I've made Daphne more distraught, and hopefully it's more of a realistic portrayal.

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Chapter 1: On the Train

A dark-haired young man stood for a moment by himself on platform 9 and 3/4. He wore a ratty, faded blue jumper, and jeans that gave up being jeans long ago. The clothes hung off his lanky frame more now than they had 3 months prior, a glaring reminder of the internment camp privately run at #4 Privet Drive.

He watched as a disillusionment charm melted away and revealed the scarred, asymmetrical face of Mad-Eye Moody, his unnerving magical eye already whizzing around. A pink-haired Nymphadora Tonks stood a few paces off, looking around seemingly uninterested, but he noticed her wand partially out of her wrist holster. He wasn't the only one on edge after all that had happened.

"'Sfar as we go, laddie," said Moody, clunking to a stop beside him. "I'm sorry about Sirius. He was a good man," he paused, not knowing how to continue.

"And he would've wanted you to live vicariously in his place!" Tonks stepped in, her hair shifting in colour from pink to orange and finally a neon green. "Take up his legacy! Prank the living crap out of everyone, and get laid for Merlin's sake," Tonks winked at him.

Harry Potter wished he could disappear into the crowd. If not for his Dumbledore-appointed escort, he might have gotten away with it too. Though he wasn't in any hurry to start his 6th year. Experience had taught him not to smile too early. As it was, he couldn't decide if he should look mortified, scandalized, or smile brightly at her. Settling on diplomacy, he thanked Tonks for her enthusiasm.

"See you at Christmas!" Tonks shouted, along with a grunt from the stoic retired Auror stood beside her. As he dragged his trunk up the few steps and into the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, its doors slid shut and Moody and Tonks disappeared from sight. Beginning to lift his trunk to look for a compartment, he cursed quietly, realizing that, now being on the train, he could do magic freely without fear of a Ministry owl. He shrunk his luggage with a quick spell, put it in his pocket, and began walking down the aisle. Most of the students had already taken their seats, so it was just him, trying to peer into every compartment, though most of them had the blinds drawn over the small window in the door. Checking one of the doors, he heard a loud thud and a feminine grunt coming from one of the compartments he had just passed that had its blinds drawn and the door locked. Harry moved back to the door, and listened.

"-get away from me, Malfoy, or I swear I'll-"

"You'll what? I have your wand. I can do whatever I want to you," Harry heard Draco Malfoy say, and he could almost hear the shit-eating grin he must've had on. The other voice, Harry couldn't quite place. As the train left the station, sunlight poured into the compartment and outlined the weasel standing in front of the door.

Harry briefly pondered what to do in such a unique situation. It took a scream from inside the compartment to shake the cobwebs loose. He couldn't stand around and do nothing, that much was for sure. A hasty unlocking spell and a pull had the door sliding open. Sure enough, there was Malfoy with his back to him, pointing his wand into the face of a girl in Harry's year, a Slytherin if he wasn't mistaken. She had black hair done up in a knot, and light blue eyes, that were opened wide and tearful in fear of whatever was about to come out of Malfoy's wand. A black bra strap and ripped white blouse confirmed what was in progress in the room. On the bare skin of her right shoulder, he could see a dark bruise where it looked like she had been roughly grabbed, a thumb pressed into the soft flesh of her collarbone. The crook of her neck was red and irritated, as if someone had been been trying to get a good grip.

" _Diffindo_ ," Malfoy cast with a slashing motion. But Harry had his wand out as well, and just as quickly, a perfect blue shield burst out of the air between the two Slytherins. It hissed as the cutting charm splashed against it.

Malfoy whirled around, clearly having been taken by surprise. He began to cast another spell, his mouth opening and his hand turning, but Harry was too fast, and already too angry. As he slashed his own wand, Malfoy found himself disarmed and with a wand in his face.

" _Expulso_ ," Harry spoke for the first time, and he felt as much as heard the slam of Malfoy's spineless back against the window of the compartment, cracking it severely. The girl flinched and jumped back to avoid the flailing body. Malfoy tried to get up, but Harry was already there, and planted his right foot on his already-aching back.

"Think about it," he almost whispered, his face almost eager as he looked down. The blonde boy scowled, but didn't move otherwise. "Too bad."

Harry raised his head, remembering the presence of an audience in the compartment. He locked eyes with her, letting a few seconds pass. She couldn't break his gaze, though her left hand reflexively reached up to hold together the remnants of her shirt. Her eyes were unnervingly blue. Her lips were full, but the bottom one was split.

Looking back down, he began to speak. "Moved on from schoolyard duels, have you? Like father, like son. Papa Malfoy must be so proud."

"You shut up about my father, Potter-"

"DON'T open your mouth when I've got you at wandpoint, Malfoy," Harry heard the blue-eyed girl take in a sharp breath at his raised voice. "Or I'll forget about Gryffindor honour and hurt you for real," Harry spoke in the same tone, putting more weight on his captive and leaning down further. Turning once more to his observer, he saw that she was attentively watching the proceedings, some of the fear replaced with anger, tears so far unshed. Her wand still lay forgotten on the ground, having rolled away in the brief scuffle.

"What do you wanna do with him?" He had some of his own ideas, but it seemed only fair to let her decide, all things considered.

He waited for a reply, and as the girl looked between Harry and Malfoy, he began to think she might not reply at all.

Standing up, she aimed a good kick into the other Slytherin's ribs, satisfied with the cough and grunt of pain, even as the effort jolted a few tears free of her painted lashes. "He can go," she said in a strong voice. It didn't last long, though, as Harry heard her shuddering exhale. He nodded grimly at her, his fingers turning white on his wand, angry at the audacity of the disgusting specimen under his foot.

"If you thought that hurt, you'll love this next bit." With a swish, a flick, and a jab, Malfoy was lifted by his middle and tossed out into the aisle, landing with another slam on the floor. "I know roughly what you were here to do, and if you come near this girl again, I'll Cruciate you, no questions."

"I know where you sleep," Harry finished as he slid the compartment's door shut once more. Turning around again, he flicked his wand, returning the window to its previous pristine state. He also noticed that while he was chatting with Malfoy, the girl had retreated into the far left corner, taking up seemingly as little space as possible. He could see a quiver in her hands. Harry felt conflicted. He had enough problems of his own, and really would be useless at comforting this girl. If she even wanted to be comforted. But his sense of what's right wouldn't allow him to simply leave.

The girl was leaning back into her corner, one hand holding her ruined shirt together, and the other supporting her head as she began to shake more violently. Harry thought he could hear sniffling. A bump in the track shook the train, and Harry saw a flash of reddened eyes and wet cheeks.

"Do you mind if I sit?" Harry asked, almost timidly. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. Subtlety, he felt, was never his strong suit. She gave no indication that she heard him, but he could hear her take controlled, if still shaky breaths. A lock of hair hung down over her arm, but she made no effort to fix it.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, gaping at her and grasping around in his brain for anything to say. Only jokes and weak introductions came to mind.

"Are you al-" suddenly Harry heard a squeak outside the door, and it slid open. He jumped up, wand already in hand behind him. There was no need, it turned out, as it was only the kind old trolley lady.

"Anything from the cart?" Almost without thinking, Harry drew as close to the door of the compartment as he could, trying to obscure the woman's view of its other occupant. As she began craning her neck to see around Harry's dark hair, he moved even closer and gave her his best and widest smile.

"Oh perfect, not a moment too soon! Do you have any sweet drinks? Throat's parched, you know." He said all this very fast, and with much enthusiasm. It worked, he was relieved to see, as the lady turned her attention to her business.

"Yes dear, I've got some," she began, looking around her perpetually over-filled trolley, "apple cider that's quite sweet, if that suits your fancy?" Right away Harry told her just how lovely two bottles of apple cider would be, and pulled his velvet money sack out of his jeans pocket. As the lady turned back to hand him his beverages, she caught a glimpse of the girl still sitting in a ball a few feet away.

"Is she quite alright?" Harry's eyes widened a fraction as he realized his mistake.

"O-oh, yes, my girlfriend's just feeling a bit ill, she, uh, hasn't been sleeping enough." The plump old lady looked as though she wanted to take Harry's cock-and-bull explanation absolutely the wrong way, and her narrowed eyes and pursed lips told him that he'd probably said the stupidest thing possible. And girlfriend too? Why does he open his mouth?

Thankfully, the lady left off, and after being handed a single shiny gold galleon, Harry hastily refused her offer to make change for his sizable over-payment, and shut the door, wincing at himself as he did so. Maybe she hadn't heard?

He slowly pulled up the tiny folding table, hearing it click into place. With only the smallest of clinks, he laid the two bottles down, watching the girl for any sign she'd heard his multiple blunders. Receiving no such sign, he sat back down. The noise of the seat accommodating his weight mixed for a moment with the still-present sound of her practiced breaths. Only the occasional sniffle broke the silence.

After what seemed like an age, Harry couldn't take it anymore. He hadn't stayed with her just to stare. He tried to think back to any point in his life where he had been witness to anyone being comforted and the like. He remembered being younger and on the rare days he was given furlough, playing at a playground nearby his house. A father had seen his little girl skin her elbow. He'd knelt in front of her, speaking softly to her and pulling her close with a smile. Those were the days when he was still young enough to wonder what he'd done to offend his aunt and uncle so as to never deserve such caring treatment.

Heaving himself out of his seat, Harry knelt in much the same way he'd seen so many years ago, almost sitting on the floor in an effort to make eye contact. Trying to see past her hair, he grabbed one of the bottles of apple cider, and cracked its cap open. He brought himself a bit closer to the girl, and while shifting, his arm brushed against her leg. Lightning-fast, she looked into his eyes, her gaze afraid but also angry - at the touch, or at the situation, Harry didn't know.

"Here," he spoke quietly, still looking at her. "Drink this, it'll help." Her eyes moved down to the now-open bottle, and as she considered it, he though that in that moment, she looked more like a little girl than a teenager, wondering perhaps if she could trust him, or if he too had a sinister purpose.

The hand supporting her bowed head moved to grasp the bottle, and as her fingers lightly moved against his, he couldn't help but be happy that he was making progress. He felt a need to take care of this girl, despite having known her for what was likely a quarter of an hour.

"Thanks." She was quiet, but he had no trouble hearing her, being close as he was. She looked at him for a second longer, and then took a long drink. Harry's eyes hadn't moved, and now rested on her throat. He allowed himself to notice that it was slender and the right amount of sinewy. Under different circumstances, he would've liked to find out how smooth and soft the skin there was. His eyes shifted, and suddenly he found himself frowning, the redness and bruising reminding him that it was certainly not a good time to entertain any of those kinds of thoughts.

"No problem," he replied just as quietly. It occurred to Harry that he would need to stop thinking of her as "the girl" in the very near future. "What's your name? I'm uh, Harry. Potter."

She blinked and looked at him, and he thought he saw a hint of 'Are you stupid? I know who you are' in a twitch of her lips. Her tears had dried.

"Oh, you've heard of me then," he smiled sheepishly, acknowledging his own lack of sense. He supposed that the yearly shows he put on at school would have introduced him to most students by this point.

"Yeah," she almost laughed, before catching herself. "I'm... thanks." Harry blinked. "Daphne." He nodded in understanding.

"Can I take a look at that?" he asked her, reaching for the bare shoulder still covered by her hand. She leaned back and her posture became defensive once more. "Whoa! Hey. I just want to help," he told her with a look of surprise, raising his hands up. Still making eye contact, she lowered her arm, and the bra strap and blouse fell down once again. As he slowly moved his hands to inspect her injuries, he did his best not to notice the curve of her breast, or the amount of skin on display.

It didn't work. He wrestled with the guilt for a second, but, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable, resolved to fix her up quickly and retreat before she noticed him looking and he scared her back into her shell. Harry couldn't quite decide why he cared so much, but he supposed he would have cared about any girl in the kind of trouble Daphne had been in. His right hand gripped his wand as his left hand finally made contact with her shoulder. She watched his face as he flinched at the contact.

Little did she know, Harry's knowledge of healing magic was pitiful. " _Episkey_ ," he told his wand, focusing on the bruising and angry red marks. They shrank, and the colours seemed to absorb back into her skin as he turned his head and mistakenly came way too close to bumping noses with her. She again flinched back, and he tried not to wince at his clumsiness. "It's alright, it's alright, just going to fix your lip." She relaxed, but as Harry took a deep breath, his nose was filled with the scent of her shampoo. Vanilla, or lavender, or... something. He was too busy trying not to embarrass himself to properly notice.

Another wave of his wand, and her lip looked untouched in the waning light.

"There." He didn't really know what else to say. She murmured her thanks once more. "You can tell me about... it. If you feel like it. If you want to." Harry cringed, and leaned back against the opposite seat, sitting fully on the floor now. Shed looked down to make an uneasy sort of eye contact. As if she wasn't sure if she should speak or not. A grimace crossed her face.

"I should've known better," she shook her head, to herself. "He snuck up on me, I left my wand on the seat like a stupid bint." Tears threatened to flow again, and Harry thought that perhaps he should have left the questions well enough alone.

He shook his head slightly at her. "It shouldn't be your job to avoid getting raped on the Hogwarts Express." As soon as he'd said it, he regretted his phrasing, seeing her jaw clench and the film of unshed tears shine even brighter.

"Do you- do you want me to call someone? A Professor maybe?" He wasn't even sure if any Hogwarts teachers rode the Express, but he felt like a limp noodle letting his previous sentence hang in the air.

"No, there's no point, it'd be our word against his anyway," Daphne said as she shook her head.

"That doesn't matter, he was going to-"

"I said NO!" she very nearly screamed at him, making him jump slightly in surprise.

"Alright." Harry felt a twinge of anger, but wisely chose to cut her slack. Now was not the time for his temper to introduce itself.

"There's no point. It's not the first time someone in Slytherin House tries something like that. Snape isn't exactly a feminist."

"I didn't think things were that bad in Slytherin," Harry said, noticing the way she looked at him.

"They're worse. We're all supposed to become well-behaved Pureblood wives, whether we like it or not." She said quickly, as if it was something she often thought of with displeasure. He shook his head and frowned at her, in sympathy.

"That's terrible," he told her, not really knowing what to say, especially after her previous outburst. She nodded, and he heard her take another slow breath.

"Sorry," she told him. He shrugged at her, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head.

Feeling that a change in topic might be beneficial for both parties, Harry began to speak again. "Hey, uh, I was supposed to meet my friends in another compartment, do you wanna..." he trailed off, watching her eyes snap up to look at him. He thought she looked... panicked? "Never mind."

"If you have to go, go," she said, her tone bitter, Harry thought. He really couldn't bring himself to leave her alone for the rest of the train ride. The way she'd locked her jaw and turned to look out the window made him reconsider for a brief moment, but he really couldn't blame her for some instability in view of what she'd been through. He stood up, and immediately she turned her head back. Harry thought she might have been worried he'd actually leave. Slightly proud not to be disappointing yet another girl, he took a step and reached up to pull her trunk down from the overhead rack. She expelled a held breath.

"Here, I'll just put this down and you can find something else to wear. I'll step outside for a minute, you just let me know when you're ready."

"Alright," she said, not moving from her seat. As he slid the door shut, he saw her begin to get up.

Waiting patiently, and a bit relieved at being out of view of her cautious eyes, he looked left and right down the aisle. The lamps swayed gently with the movement of the train, casting different shadows with each chug of the engine. He'd missed the Wizarding world.

The door slid open roughly, and he spun around. She looked worse than when he'd left her, eyes once again red, nose running, a couple tears hanging off her shapely jaw. Harry stepped towards her, wondering what could have gone wrong in the one or two minutes she'd been alone.

She looked at him with a look that he didn't recognize, and closed the distance between them, pulling him into a fierce hug. He was surprised at the strength of her embrace, as she allowed herself a few sobs. She quieted down, but still she held on. He took a few steps for the both of them, and with one hand blindly closed the door once more.

Definitely vanilla, Harry thought.

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A/N: More will come as I fix it up.


	2. Chapter 2: Golden Ticket

Chapter 2: Golden Ticket

A/N: This chapter is meant to flash us back to the summer and fill in a gap or two. Again big thanks to Addictorator for suggestions.

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Harry Potter woke up in his rickety bed in the third and smallest bedroom at Camp Privet. The sound of tapping was insistent. Groping around in the inadequate light, he put on his glasses and stumbled out of bed, wondering who would send an owl at this hour. The way his half-asleep brain figured it, whoever it was had either written from very far away, or kept a quite unusual schedule. Upon reaching the window, Harry noticed the bird in question was a large and serious-looking screech owl, wearing a sort of collar with a golden 'G' on it. Strange, Harry thought. He untied the scroll of parchment and the owl flew away as he was unrolling it.

"Dear sir or madam,

You have been listed as a primary beneficiary of the Last Will and Testament of the late Lord Sirius Orion Black. In my capacity as Under-chief third rank of the Gringotts department for Posthumous Business, I request your presence in conference room 1 at 9:00 am tomorrow, for the reading of the will and the disposition of monies and properties following.

Should you find transport to our establishment problematic, you need only speak your name into this parchment at the appropriate hour and it will act as a portkey. This is a privilege you are granted as, by our calculations, a future Esteemed Client.

The undersigned,

Shredbone"

Harry fell back onto his bed and the letter fluttered to the floor. There were already so many questions without answers. Why had there been so little warning from the goblins about this? For that matter, why hadn't Dumbledore mentioned anything about Sirius's will? After all they'd had plenty of time together when the teen had redecorated his office.

The rest of the day passed without notice, bouncing from chore to chore, from the garden to the kitchen, but no matter the kind of work, or the invariably kind and sweet words from his dear aunt Petunia, it was not enough to keep Harry's mind off of the impending grief he was expecting, not to mention whatever else was waiting for him in conference room one.

Sleep finally claimed him and he woke with the sun the next day. Dressing quietly in his least horrid and baggy clothes ,and draping his school robe over them, he took a few deep breaths. Exactly as the clock, cracked and dirty as it was, struck 9, he whispered his name into the parchment he had been clutching and was whisked away in a whirl of blue.

He landed miraculously on his feet in the atrium of the bank. Already wary, Harry looked around at the tellers toiling away at their desks, all seemingly grumbling about something or other. Dislike of mornings went beyond species, Harry noted dryly. For a moment he considered asking one of the goblins for directions to conference room one, but the idea appealed to him as much as the question probably would appeal to them. Looking around once more, he spotted a large black set of double doors that positively screamed "CONFERENCE." Upon passing through them and not being accosted by any goblins, he was pleased to see that he had been right, and that his walk to conference room one would be short, as it was numbered quite clearly right in front of him, the door slightly ajar.

"-I understand that you are a busy man, Client Dumbledore, but we must all wait on one more primary beneficiary before the proceedings can begin," Harry heard a goblin say. Dumbledore was here?

"Nothing like old men on an empty stomach," Harry said under his breath as he pushed the door open, taking in a scene quite different that what he had been expecting. A good portion of the Order of the Phoenix was in attendance. Tonks, Moody, Shacklebolt, Remus, and Dumbledore of course, among a few others. Two armoured goblin guards closed the wooden doors as Harry looked around the rest of the room.

There were more unwelcome guests towards the back. The Lady Malfoy and her spawn were sitting with as much dignity as they could muster in the far right corner. Narcissa was observing the goings-on with a shrewd look on her face, but Draco openly glared at his school rival. As everyone in the room looked in his direction, Harry's brain began to rush towards many conclusions and reactions, but one was indubitably prevalent.

"Harry, my boy!" The bearded Headmaster exclaimed, constructing the correct thing to say in the rapidly-deteriorating situation. "What a surprise to see you here!" Judging by the look on the younger man's face, that had been entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Why is it a surprise, Dumbledore? Because I'm supposed to still be locked in my room at the Dursleys? Because I'm not supposed to know about the will of my own GODFATHER? When I smashed up half your office, I thought we had come to an agreement about me being a mushroom!"

Bewildered, the Headmaster took the bait. "Mushroom? I'm afraid I don't understand, Harry."

"Well so far you've fed me shit and kept me in the dark!" The room sat in stunned silence as Dumbledore's brow furrowed.

"Harry, you must understand, I was trying to protect you, to spare you more heartache when you've already had so much."

"All of which I suffered because of YOU!" Turning to the goblin. Harry calmed himself. "I apologize for my outburst Under-chief Shredbone, I'm ready when you are." The goblin nodded and unfurled a parchment he had been holding.

"So begins the Will Reading of one Sirius Orion Black," the goblin began reading. "I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound mind and assuredly sound body, hereby declare this my Last Will and Testament." Harry shifted on his feet slightly, leaning against the wall.

"The state of the Black fortune is unknown to me, at the time of writing. Magic itself recognizes my status as Lord of the House of Black, but the Ministry of Magic considers me a fugitive. The ring didn't kill me, as dear old mum would have wanted." Harry's eyes began to sting even as he let out a small laugh. Sirius had written this when he was on the run. "In the absence of any real knowledge of the situation, I will write relatively, and let the ever-snarling goblins of Gringotts do the maths, may their gold always flow." Harry could see Tonks and Remus shaking their heads, already crying for their lost friend and brother.

"The division of the Black fortune will be as follows: 50 percent will to go the Organization for the Obligatory Toasting of Peanuts. It is my hope that they will toast every raw peanut in Britain." Harry took his time connecting the dots. The Organization for the… Obligatory Toasting of- of course, OOTP. Dumbledore's band of merrymakers.

"A further 25 percent I wish to be evenly divided between the people on a list of friends I've provided. Moody, you taught all I knew about being an Auror. Nymphie, use it well. Remus, you old dog, buy a house or something responsible like that. And some nicer clothes. The rest of you, enjoy. It's not like I'll be needing it."

Harry wished he could have heard all this in his Godfather's voice, at least one last time. Shredbone's low growl hardly did the late Sirius Black justice.

"Finally, to my God-son and my best and only hope for my true legacy, Harry James Potter, I leave the remaining 25 percent, as well as any items and property not yet scavenged by the perfectly normal and completely sane remainder of what used to be my family. I've also left a letter for you to read in private later."

There was silence in the room for a moment, and Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After a minute, Dumbledore stood up and drew breath as if to speak, but was interrupted by a high and clear voice belonging, as it turned out, to the Lady Malfoy.

"My apologies, Under-chief, but unless I am mistaken, a new Lord Black must be appointed upon the execution of the Will of the previous. As I have not heard you say anything in this regard, I entreat the goblins of Gringotts to consider my son, Draco, as the strongest and only candidate for the newly-vacant Lordship and… finer control over the dispensation of monies." Near the end, her polite facade cracked, revealing her distaste for what she considered vile creatures, and her displeasure at being forced to parlay with them over what should be done without question and post-haste. As it was, the filthy goblins held in their possession the Black ring, the key to the vaults and to overturning any foolish decisions her cousin may have penned in his final months.

"I can assure you, Lady Malfoy, that the late Lord Black has made provisions for his successor. I have not spoken on this because it does not concern… the young master." Shredbone sneered at the younger Malfoy. Draco jumped out of his seat.

"Don't speak of me as if I'm not here, goblin! I am a Scion of the House of Malfoy and-" as Draco ranted he drew his wand. The two goblin guards present took immediate notice of this and took a few rattling steps forward, their halberds lowered in anticipation of spilling Malfoy blood. "-and..." Draco swallowed, eyeing the sharp blades and slowly slipping his wand back into a pocket of his robes.

"Draco, sit down! This is not the time." Narcissa chastised her son, as if they were at home taking lunch and he was throwing a tantrum. "Under-chief, rest assured, I will be contacting you to discuss this issue in detail at our earliest mutual convenience." The goblin said nothing, but nodded and gave a snort.

"Please send whatever other documents you have for me by owl, if it's not too much trouble," Harry said to Shredbone, who handed him a thick and heavy envelope as he was on his way toward the doors. Shacklebolt stood up and drew his wand, considering if the boy should be allowed to simply leave without any kind of accompaniment, but the decision was taken from him as the two guards redirected their weapons, making it clear that no magic was to take place in conference room one. Kingsley sat back down without any hesitation. The goblins of Gringotts had very strict policies, and it did not do to antagonize them in any way.

"Harry, wait," he heard Dumbledore call, but he had had enough of the old coot to last him the whole summer.

"Yeah, help will always be given at Hogwarts, what a load of hog shite," the 6th year said as he took on a brisk pace and pulled out the same Gringotts letter that had brought him to the bank.

"Harry James Potter," he spoke, and was pulled away in a flash.

In a mansion in Little Hangleton, on the third floor in the master bedroom, a pair of eyes opened, and crimson irises expanded around pupils that shrunk to accommodate the early morning light. A pale and bony hand reached out and touched a wand on an ebony night table. Slowly, Tom Riddle rose upright and onto his feet. There were things to be done. His past failures were merely dents in his grand plan. A smile crept onto the Dark Lord's face as he contemplated the coming victories. The old fool was not the only one with complex machinations in place. There were many pawns on the board, and not all of them were white.

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A/N: Just a short chapter, but important in the long run. Let me know what you think. Should I add more meat? Harry has yet to read the letter Sirius left for him, that will be in another chapter. Additions and discussion are welcome.


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